Steam rose up from the twitching carcass. Amy backed away. Its hide began to molt and blister and split. Blood bubbled to the surface. Almost idly, Amy wondered if Hell itself had come to claim the thing before her. The flesh bubbled into a dark jelly, sloughing off the bones and puddling between the rib slats and Amy turned away from the horror, unable to witness anymore. The dark mess of it spilled over the dry ground and oozed towards her foot and she crawled away from it.
Lara
Amy rose up in the last of the smoke but the pale wolf was gone. No sign of the lobo, not even tracks in the ash-dusted ground. Where had it gone? Had it smoldered into nothing like the old wolf?
What happens to Lara now?
Did it break the spell?
“Lara!”
A figure drifted from the smoke but it wasn't Lara. One of the watchmen, shambling through the aftermath with a blasted look on his face. He took no notice of her. Another man appeared in the smoke, an elder of the town, waving the smoke away with his hand. And then others, drifting back into the square. Of the pale wolf or Lara, there was no sign and Amy started to run, bellowing the woman's name into the smoke.
What had she expected to find? Lara, whole and free of the curse that had plagued her for so long? The nightmare of the wolves over? She had prayed, although she had no faith, for this to be true.
Something dark snagged her eye in the ashen weeds. A grim patch of wolf hide, slathered dark with blood but the pelage was clearly white. Had it been shredded from the pale wolf's back during the fight? Amy moved on, finding more scraps of hide until she spotted a larger mass sprawled in the clover. The pale wolf.
Amy fell to her knees. It was ravaged and bloodied, the meat of its neck exposed raw. She reached out to touch the wolf, sinking a quaking hand into the fur of the ribcage. The pale wolf didn't move. There was no heartbeat at all.
She was gone. Amy had failed Lara like she had failed her father. All of this torment had been for nothing. And all of it had been her idea, coming to this godforsaken place to put things right and now Lara was dead and something broke deep inside Amy Gallagher.
Do wolves go to heaven? Even the bad ones?
A stir, faint and far away, prickled against her palm. Amy flinched. There it was again but it wasn't a heartbeat or the rise of expanding lungs. The movement was sharp and precise. Once, when an aunt was pregnant, Amy had placed her hand on the woman's belly and felt the baby kick. That's what this felt like. A sudden and horrid thought tripped Amy's mind. What if the pale wolf was pregnant and ready to birth out a litter?
Another movement against her palm, violent and urgent. Amy snatched her hand back, the hide of the carcass writhing and undulating in a grotesque manner.
The wolf’s eyes were glassy and cold, staring up at the smoky sky. The amber glow extinguished. Then the jaw jerked back and yawned open at an unnatural angle, widening as if it yearned to swallow all of creation in its maw. There was a sharp crack of bone and the flesh of the maw split open.
Something red and wet slithered from the wolf's mouth and Amy blinked at it stupidly until she realized what it was. A hand.
Slick with blood, it shot forward, then the arm emerged. As the maw of the wolf split open, the bloodied arm slithered up and after that came the woman. Jerking out in a series of contractions, the body pushed out from the wolf's mouth and flopped listlessly onto the earth and the carcass of the wolf deflated like a leaking balloon.
Amy held her breath, eyes dished large at this figure ejected from the wolf’s gullet like something it had devoured and spit up. Scrambling closer, Amy turned the body over and looked down into the face of Lara Mendes. Slick with blood as if she'd been dipped in the stuff, Lara's eyes remained closed.
“Lara?” Amy wiped the slime from the woman’s face. “Lara, wake up. Please.”
No response. She pressed two fingers against her neck and felt a pulse, faint but it was there. A thin bubble of blood forming in the corner of Lara's mouth meant that she was breathing. Amy cradled the woman in her lap and whispered her name over and over like a prayer.
The woman coiled up in a jerk and coughed up something dark over Amy’s knees. The woman went still again, neither waking nor opening her eyes. Amy felt tears burn hot and unwanted in her eyes. There was no need to cry. Lara was alive and that was enough for now. After all this horror, it was more than enough.
The creak of leather brought her eyes up to find the watchmen circling around her. Their long lances in hand, some looked down in revulsion at the raw woman painted in blood, others at the grim carcass of the wolf.
Words were exchanged between the men in that tongue she did not understand and then Amy watched the men raise their weapons up.
“Stop!”
A commotion from behind. The men were shoved aside as Silas fought his way in. Relief spilled across his face when he saw Amy with the woman in her arms. He pushed in further to put himself between Amy and the poised weapons. He swore at the watchmen in their own tongue to back away and leave the girl alone. The troop glanced at one another but did not lower their lances. The air went still, as if nature itself waited to see who would blink first.
The wolf was dead, Silas told them. As was the Bishop and his foul monster. No more violence, no more bloodshed.
The balance tipped when another man pushed his way to the front. The elder quickly took in the sight of the woman and the carcass and then he said something to the armed troop. The watchmen lowered their weapons and stepped back.
Silas knelt down at Amy's side. “Are you hurt?”
“Silas, look.” Amy nodded at the woman in her arms. “She came back. Lara came back.”
A wary caution held his eyes. “Does she live?”
“Yes.” Amy rocked the woman gently in her arms. “She's going to be fine.”
The boy placed a hand on the girl's shoulder but didn't know what else to say. He looked up at the men circled around them and begged for someone to get a stretcher.
The elder hesitated a moment before relaying the order to the man next to him. Then he waved his cane at the carcass of the pale wolf and told the men to burn it.
41
“HOW IS SHE?”
Amy looked up as Silas entered the room, a steaming teacup in his hand. “The same,” she said.
He settled onto the cot next to her. “No change?”
“Nope.”
“Well. Maybe today will bring some improvement.”
Amy warmed her fingers around the china cup and looked over the young man sitting next to her. The swelling on his eye had gone down but the flesh was purpled. She didn't want to think how she must look. There was only one mirror in Silas's house and that a small one that hung in the front hallway. They were considered pools of vanity and every respectable household contained only one. Small mercies, she thought.
“Your lip seems better,” Silas said as if reading her thoughts. “The swelling has receded but that split may take some time to heal.”
She touched her lip as he said this. His mother had treated it with a poultice that stung and smelled awful but took the swelling down. She would have to sip her tea from the other side of her mouth. “Remind me to thank your mom for that.”
Their eyes settled onto the prone figure before them. Lara Mendes lay peacefully tucked under clean sheets on a cot in the middle of the room. She had remained unconscious since the horror of the day before when she'd been spit up from the wolf's maw. Unresponsive and limp, she had slipped into a coma that mimicked death. Amy reached out and smoothed the hair over Lara's brow.
They had been taken in by Silas's family, she and Lara. His mother had objected, quietly as was her way, but Silas insisted and father took his side. Two pallets had been set up in the parlor for their guests and Mrs. Hostetler had spent most of yesterday caring for her wards. Amy had wanted to help take care of Lara but was shooed to her cot to rest. Frau Goerzner had come to help and, after chasing the men from the room, they had washed the blood from La
ra and dressed her wounds. With the woman settled comfortably under the sheets of the cot, they kept watch. Lara hadn't stirred or fluttered an eye in over a day.
“She looks better,” he said.
Amy agreed. “Her color’s improved.”
“How long do you think she'll sleep like that?”
She blew on her tea. “My guess is three days.”
“How do you know?”
“That's how long she slept when she was first bitten.”
It was only a guess but Amy prayed it would only be three days. She and her dad had taken turns sitting vigil by Lara's bed in the hospital that first time. It seemed only fitting that she would be here at her bedside when Lara came out the other side.
Not quite fitting, she reconsidered. Her dad should be here. He should have seen her emerge from this nightmare, seen her survive it.
Silas turned to her. “You should rest.”
“I can't lie here anymore. I need to stretch a bit.”
“Are you still in pain?”
“I’m okay,” she fibbed. Everything hurt. Even the delicate cup against her lip stung. “Have the elders made a decision yet?”
“No.”
“You must be worried.”
“I should be,” he shrugged. “But I'm not.”
“Why didn't they talk to me?” Amy slid the cup onto the window sill. “I knew what happened. I could have told them everything.”
“You're an outsider. They will not consider your view on it.”
“Maybe you should have lied about it.”
“What good would that serve? What's done is done. There's no need to hide it.”
Amy glanced at him and not for the first time thought he was odd. He wasn't, she reminded herself. His ways were simply different to her own. He had confessed, without hesitation, to killing the Bishop.
The body had been found in the aftermath of the chaos, the townsfolk gathering around it until the elders came and shooed everyone back. Who had done this, they asked. Had anyone witnessed the act? The Halford boy shuffled his feet and kept his eyes lowered. Hovering protectively over Amy, Silas rose and said aloud that he had killed the Bishop. There was neither shame nor pride in his declaration, just a simple statement of fact.
It had stunned Amy. Not just the news of what he had done but his admission to the act. She thought he would be taken away immediately but the elders had hesitated, scratching their chins and glancing from one to the other. Herr Stetleburg, prominent among the elders, announced that the council would decide what to do with him anon. There was simply too much to do to in the wake of the chaos and they would need the boy's help.
That had been a day ago and still no word had come from the elders about Silas’s fate. Herr Hostetler had gone to the elders to plead for clemency towards his son but was surprised to learn that the older men had yet to even discuss the matter.
The village seemed different now that the Bishop was gone. While Amy had recuperated on her pallet, the town had become a swarm of activity as everyone emerged from their homes to clean up the terrible mess and put things back in order. The wounded were taken in and the watchmen returned their pikes to the armory. They took spades up to the cemetery and dug and services were rendered as the dead were buried.
The carcasses of both wolves were dragged away and burned in one spot. The bonfire had raged all night long as the elders fed it with logs of hemlock to keep it hot in order to incinerate every last shred of the monsters. When the fire was finally allowed to die there had been no trace of even bone and the ashes of fire were dug out and dumped into a wheelbarrow. The barrow was trundled out past the village walls and the ashes buried in a secret location in the woods. No marker, no stone to dignify the spot.
A much thornier problem lay at the bottom of the monster's pit under the cemetery. Or more specifically, the countless bones of the dead that had been fed to the ancient lupus. Outside of a few of the watchmen, no one knew how many souls had been pushed into the pit and, even thornier, which bones belonged to members of the village and which were that of outsiders. What were they to do with that macabre ossuary? None of the elders had the stomach to face the issue so they had the entrance sealed off and left the decision to another time. They had a town to rebuild and deceased to mourn.
Amy had spoken to Silas's father, to ask if she could speak to the elders and tell them what she knew. It would help Silas, she had pleaded, but Herr Hostetler shook his head. She was English, he had said, and therefore her testimony was without merit or consequence. That was unfair she argued and the man agreed but there was nothing to be done about it.
So they waited.
“Silas?” Amy brushed a speck of lint from her knee. “If the elders decide to punish you, what will they do?”
“They won't hang me, if that's what you're asking.”
“Will they put you in jail?”
He propped his elbows on his knees. “I don't believe they will do anything. It's been over a day and they still haven't made a decision. I think that bodes well for me. For us.”
She repeated the words in her head. For us.
“Don't worry,” he said.
“Easier said than done.”
He turned to look at her, his lips pursed like he was trying not to smile. It took a moment before Amy realized that he was actually blushing.
She looked away before the smirk spread to her own face. Then completely out of the blue, she wondered what her mom would think of Silas. Then harder still, what would her dad had made of him? Her dad had been tough and, at times rude, but he was a relatively good judge of character. Would he have liked Silas?
Amy shook it off. Why was she wondering about that? What had brought on such a silly notion? She was still in shock, she concluded. Her brains were still scrambled.
Someone stepped into the room, lingering at the door. Silas's brother had bounced back from his wounds faster than any of the other injured. He awoke famished, devouring an enormous breakfast only to ask for seconds. All signs of the torment he suffered from the wolf's bite were gone.
“What it is it, Jacob?” Silas asked, turning to the boy in the doorway.
“The English girl is outside,” Jacob said. “The strange one. She wants to talk to Amy.”
“Tasha?” Amy rose and patted Lara's arm once before following Jacob to the front door.
~
Tasha was waiting on the porch when Amy came out. Griffin was in the yard, standing in the shade of a birch tree. Once the terror was over, they had been cut down from their moorings and taken in by the Cullot family next door. They were fed and given beds, their wounds cleaned and dressed. The smile on Tasha's face was almost startling to see.
“Tasha. How are you feeling?”
“Better.” Tasha nodded a hello to Silas as he followed Amy out onto the porch. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”
“You’re leaving? I'm sure you can stay another day if you want.”
“Nah. I want to get out of here.” Her eyes went to Silas. “No offense.”
Silas smiled back. “Did the Cullots treat you well?”
“Like royalty. They're very sweet.”
Amy took a step closer and wagged her chin in the direction of Griffin. “Has he spoken yet?”
“Not a word. I think once we're on the road and well away from here, he'll start to relax.”
Amy looked out at Griffin under the birch boughs. His eyes had dimmed, as if he had crawled deep inside to protect himself and wouldn't come out. Traumatized, plain and simple. Amy could relate. Looking back to Tasha, she was taken aback a second time by the young woman's smile.
“You seem almost chipper,” Amy said. “Compared to Griffin, I mean. How come?”
“Dunno. I guess a lifetime of seeing ghosts has hardened me a little. Or I'm in full denial and I'll have a complete breakdown once we’re on the road.”
Amy rested her hand on Tasha's arm. “I'm sorry about your friend. Jay seemed like a nice guy.”
“Yeah.” The smile fell away and Tasha looked at the floor. “He'll be missed.”
Silas spoke up, his voice hushed. “What will you tell his family?”
“I don't know yet.”
“The truth may be difficult,” he said. “But it remains true.”
The question hung in the air before them. Would Tasha and Griffin tell the outside world what they had witnessed here? That had been Griffin's goal all along.
“Yeah, well.” Tasha toed a loose board on the floor. “We'll see. If Griffin recovers, he may want to but... I dunno.”
“Is your vehicle very far?” Silas asked. “I can get someone to take you back in a buggy.”
“We're fine. The walk will do us good.” When Tasha looked up at Amy, the smile was gone. “So, this is goodbye. Take care of yourself, Amy.”
“You too.” The hug was brief. “Hang on.”
There was a small table on the porch next to them and atop it was paper and a charcoal pencil that Jacob had been using. Amy scribbled something on a scrap and handed it to Tasha. “Will you write, let me know how you're doing?”
“I'd like that.” She slipped the paper into a pocket and waved before descending the wooden steps. “Bye Silas.”
Silas came alongside Amy and they watched the Paranormal Trackers walk away. Ten yards out, Tasha turned around and hollered back at Amy. “I almost forgot! Your dad said to quit mourning and get on with it. And look after Lara!”
Silas had no idea what the woman was talking about but when he looked at Amy, he saw that her mouth had fallen open and her eyes were wet. Unsure of what to say, he put his arm around her and felt a peculiar flush of gratitude when she leaned against him.
~
The Cherokee was still out on the dirt road where they had left it. How long had it been there, three days? Amy didn't know. Time was calculated differently in this place.
“I need to get the truck,” she said to Silas.
“I'm sure it's safe where it is. The only people who would see it are plain folk. They won't touch it.”
“All of our gear is back at the cabin.” Amy stretched out the hem of her shirt, peeling back the grime and stains. “Including clean clothes. These are getting ripe.”
Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3 Page 82
